


Lost Parents and Gained Family

by ForgottenChesire



Series: Christmas '19 [4]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crossover, Fluff, Gen, Maria Stark used to be Millie Winchester, Tony and John are related
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:21:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22380991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForgottenChesire/pseuds/ForgottenChesire
Summary: Three years ago he had seen her. She’d pop into his life, shove handfuls of money into his hands and cry, but that time she had asked him to come back with her. Meet the new husband, meet the little brother. Mary, he doesn’t like to think about how close her new name had been to Mary, had been dead for six years at that point. And now Millie Winchester AKA Maria Stark is dead. She’s dead and the last thing he said... he throws more things, breaks them and watches the pieces settle on the carpet and Dean hides Sam behind his back.
Series: Christmas '19 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1603357
Comments: 18
Kudos: 48





	Lost Parents and Gained Family

**Author's Note:**

> happy late Christmas dear! Hope you enjoy!

He wakes up slowly. A hangover tangoing in his head as he listens to the crisp tones of J.A.R.V.I.S. tell him the time, it’s five minutes past noon, and the temperature, a balmy seventy-five, and other important information. Like:

“The locks on the back door react eight point five seconds too slow. And they stick as well.”

And:

“The hallway light leading to the kitchen refuses to stay on.”

Situation normal. Or as normal as life can be after you lose your parents, inherit an insane amount of money, a large company, and build a home to be the body of your A.I. creation/son.

“Oh,” J.A.R.V.I.S says like he’s just remembering something. Which is his version of, ‘I don’t want to say this but I have to’ voice, “you have a very _rude_ guest insisting on speaking with you in the kitchen.”

Tony looks up from the bathroom sink where he was washing his face.

“What?”

“He is... quite sure that you need to speak with him and won’t take no for an answer.”

Tony rubs his face.

“Jay, we talked about this-“

“He isn’t a reporter, Sir.”

The tone used is half ‘I can’t believe you don’t trust me’ and half ‘please help me remove him’. It’s a tone that Tony recognizes from one of his first jaunts into giving J.A.R.V.I.S. a body. Admittedly, doing so drunk and at someone else’s flat wasn’t the best idea he ever had. Nor was it ideal that the person had a _very_ curious hamster...

“Sir, he is spreading _salt_ on the floor!”

“Alright, alright, I’m going.”

* * *

  
He’s on a werewolf hunt in Montana when he hears the news. 

In a bar, loud and disgusting but where the wolves find their prey. The newscasters had looked so grave as they spoke. Howard Stark and his wife have died in a wreck. Pictures had flashed across the bar’s shitty tv. Part of him is ashamed to say that when he got back to the even shittier motel, after he pumped silver into the crying mess of teenage wolf, he threw things. Cussed and fussed. Woke up his boys. 

Three years ago he had seen her. She’d pop into his life, shove handfuls of money into his hands and cry, but that time she had asked him to come back with her. Meet the new husband, meet the little brother. Mary, he doesn’t like to think about how close _her_ new name had been to Mary, had been dead for six years at that point. And now Millie Winchester AKA Maria Stark is dead. She’s dead and the last thing he said... he throws more things, breaks them and watches the pieces settle on the carpet and Dean hides Sam behind his back.

John stops. Looks at the mess he’s made. Of the room. Of the children. Dean has a nick under his right eye from something John threw, Sam is crying into his hand. Takes a deep breath. Let’s it out. Dean approaches him like he’s a wild animal. Hurt and cornered. Reaches out with a calloused hand, green eyes bright. There is a blood trail like a tear that John can't look away from.

“It’s going to be okay.”

His twelve-year-old son shouldn't have to say things like that to him.

It takes a few months. Three months, two weeks and five days, but John finds out where his little brother is. Finds out all he can. And then he breaks into the honest to fucking god mansion.

Sam is asleep, recovering from a nasty cold, and being carried in Dean’s arms. 

“Sirs, I regret to inform you that this is neither a hospital, which the boy will need if his fever doesn’t go down soon, nor a hotel. Please leave.”

John jumps, looking for the source of the voice. Sam doesn’t have a fever. And he doesn’t like how he can’t see. It’s too damn dark for this time of day.

“I’m here to talk to Stark.”

“About what?”

“Ain’t talking to no damn disembodied voice. Come out and talk like a man.”

There is a pause. A soft cough from one of the boys. Probably Sam.

“I must request you leave.”

“And I must request you fuck off or get me Stark. Maybe both. And why the fuck doesn’t this place have lights?”

The hallway light flicks on. Turns off. Flicks on again. He hears an annoyed sigh before the light stays on. Like there is a ghost, his hand twitches and he wishes he brought his shotgun with the rock salt bullets.

“If the children are hungry follow this hallway to the kitchen. From there I’ll show the way to the pantry.”

John just scoffs. 

“We don’t ta-“

Dean cuts in front of him, hurrying down the hall. John enters the kitchen just in time to see the boy follow flashing green lights off to the side. He comes back with a can of soup and some bread. Sam is at the kitchen table, wide eyes taking in everything.

“Sammy is hungry,” Dean says simply. Sam nods his head.

“Why didn’t-“

“He did, you were busy.”

John cringes, not making the best impression here. Whoever is watching them is probably telling Stark everything.

“You going to get your boss anytime soon?”

“Patience is, as they say, a virtue.”

He doesn’t like waiting. Not when he isn’t hunting. Not when he’s so close to seeing a part of _her_. He paces instead. What he’s going to do _after_ he meets his little brother he isn’t sure. The man has money. A lot of it. Maybe he can convince Tony to give him some. Maybe he can get a line of credit. Maybe... he glances at Dean who looks like he’s falling asleep at the table. Glances at Sam nibbling at his grilled cheese sandwich and thinks _maybe_.

He's not sure how long he spends sniping at the voice. All he knows is Dean is asleep and Sam wants to be helpful. Is pulling on his jacket and asking questions. Always asking questions. So John finds some salt. Sam knows what to do with it and it has the added bonus of really upsetting the voice. Jarvis, the voice wants to be called. But if the bastard won’t show his face he’s going to continue to be called ‘Voice’.

And then Stark is there. Standing tall despite being sleep ruffled and clearly hungover. Alcoholism is apparently a thing for Millie's boys. It brings a sharp smile to his face.

"Your security system sucks, little brother. With how much you're worth I could have been an assassin or a kidnapper."

Tony blinks a few times. Mouths a word, probably brother, and stays in the doorway between the rest of the house and the kitchen.

“If Sir was in any danger I would have activated the security protocols along with informing the police you were here. However, I did not wish to startle the children. Especially since one is sick.”

“What?” Stark asks at the same time John snarls;

"Ain't neither of my boys sick."

That is of course when Sam comes back and proceeds to cough his lungs out like he had when he was first feeling under the weather. John looks up to the heavens and prays for patience. 

"Sure sounds like your kid is sick... I think I have cold medicine... He can take cold medicine, right? And what do you mean brother? Jay, please tell me I didn't drink everything last night."

"Sir-"

"No, you’re right, drinking and kids don't mix. Have they been fed? Kids need food."

There is a beat of silence and then;

"Where is the other one? You said 'children' and 'boys' as in more than one."

John turns around fear in his chest; Dean had been asleep the last time he looked. Only Dean is still at the table. The creature that fear becomes digs its claws in. Dean is breathing harder than normal and cheeks are slightly red. Is he sick? No, Dean would have said something. He can’t be sick. But where is Sam?

"The younger one is spreading salt on the _windowsills_."

  
“That is going to be a bitch to clean up,” Tony says and then flinches slightly, eyes darting over to Dean. Dean who is looking at Tony already like he looks at Bobby. In awe. Something John thinks his son hasn’t looked at _him_ with in very a long time. John runs a hand over his face. The all-nighter it took to get here is starting to get to him, and Tony is- for all that he is hungover- clearly gearing up.

“Yes, they have been fed.”

Tony points at Dean.

“And-“

“He doesn’t need it. What he needs to do instead is find his brother.”

There is a mechanical huff, and Tony frowns but John just stares at Dean. Dean who sways slightly, maybe he is sick? No. He would have said something. Right?

“I can show him the way.”

“Thanks, Jay.”

John waits. Watches as his son reaches out with one hand to trace the wall. Waits until Dean is out of sight and hearing range.

“We are brothers. You just had the good fortune to know our mother longer.”

“What?”

“Our mother, my mother, Millie left my father. She feared he would track her down, so she changed her name to Maria.”

Tony takes a sip of his coffee, one brow raised.

“And I should believe you why?”

“Over the years, your mother left. Was needed elsewhere, just for a few days or a week. Came back home looking like she cried the entire time? She was visiting me. Trying to do right by me all while holding me at arm's length. Your dad knew, possibly encouraged it with all the money she shoved into my hands over the years.”

Tony sets the cup down, brown eyes searching John’s face. He’d make one hell of a hunter. Maybe.

“That’s not enough. I want proof, DNA proof.”

“Sure. Sure. We can do that.”

He’ll be long gone before the tests come back. There is no way he can stay. With a hum, he reaches into his pocket. He’s never kept much from his mother. Hated her. Burned her letters. Tore up her pictures. Except one. One his dad never knew he had. A picture of her smiling, laughing, looking alive. Something she’ll never be again. He holds it out to Tony, waggles it when the man doesn’t grab it.

“Sir does not like to be handed things.”

A sharp retort is on the tip of his tongue so he bites it. Chews on it as he crosses the space between them so that he can sit the picture down next to Tony. This is the genius who created his first robot at sixteen? This is the boy his mother talked about in short frantic bursts? That maybe from before is bouncing around in his head, slower now as plans and ideas and escape routes are processed.

* * *

  
The woman in the picture, the one that is folded and worried and old, looks like his mother. He has pictures of that smile. Head thrown back in a laugh caught, frozen in time for all time. He looks back at the man standing in front of him. J.A.R.V.I.S had done a quick search on the man while Tony finished getting ready for the day.

John Winchester. What J.A.R.V.I.S hadn’t mentioned was the two children. He’d briefly spoke about the dead wife, the missing mother with a jaywalking ticket, the sketchy life his supposed brother had taken up after losing his wife. But no mention of the children until Tony had seen the boy at the table. The one who is clearly trying to hide that he’s sick.

The man claiming to be his brother. He knows that look in those eyes darting about. Never still. His father had those eyes. Caged and searching for something that can’t be found and fighting back anger.

“Still want a DNA test.”

The children come back. The younger one, Sam, asking question after question that J.A.R.V.I.S answers with ill hidden glee. He’s not sure how, but somehow, he’s conned into taking them out to one of the boardwalk fairs. It wasn’t the big brown puppy dog eyes nor was it the hopeful eyes of a boy still fighting sickness that got him out the door. He shouldn’t. Dean, as he learns the oldest is named, is sick. Turns green after a few bites of a hotdog. Blames it on the rides. But he’s glad he did. Fuck is he glad he did.

John talks in short sentences often. Direct to the point. Even to the boys. When he does ramble it’s with a lost look in his eye. For all that he says _Maria_ is their shared parent, he reminds Tony of Howard. Especially, when Dean wins Sam a stuffed moose from a game. The boy had turned to John, cheeks flushed and eyes bright, only the man hadn’t been paying one ounce of fucking attention. What John _was_ looking at escaped Tony’s notice, but the way the joy dimmed to lackluster acceptance didn’t. Which does not fly with possibly-awesome-fun-uncle Tony. Who then proceeds to shower both boys with maybe too much attention. The tabloids are going to go nuts. 

John loves them both, Tony thinks, maybe, eyes constantly searching them out before darting away. Like he’s being hunted. He just isn’t that good at showing it.

Both boys are endearing as hell. That’s the only firm conclusion that he can come to as he sits across from John. They’re back in his kitchen, the DNA samples are being ran, the boys asleep in a spare bedroom. If they are related, Tony knows he’s not going to stop himself from spoiling them. He’s going to be a cool ass uncle. What he feels about John, that’s more complicated.

“Will you be gone in the morning?” he asks. John hasn’t asked for money, not yet. But there is something he wants to ask. John takes a deep breath, lets it out.

“Might be. Might not be.”

They say their goodnights shortly after. Tony leaves an envelope on the table. He hopes it will still be there in the morning but he’s not going to hold his breath.

It’s gone. He stares at the empty table. His maybe brother and maybe nephews are gone. It hurts more than it should. To be alone again.

“Sir?”

“Yeah, Jay?”

“The boys- they are are still asleep in the spare bedroom.”

What? He moves through the mansion quickly, almost skidding to a stop when he reaches the spare room. Both boys are cuddled together fast asleep. Dean is snoring, face redder than it was yesterday.

“Jay?”

“Mister Winchester kissed them goodbye at three AM this morning, shortly after you fell into deep REM sleep and could not be awakened easily. Dean will need to see a doctor soon. His fever has reached and maintained an unhealthy temperature.”

Why would… How could… Tony takes a deep breath and tries not to hit something. Jesus fuck he needs a goddamn drink.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:  
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